note to self:
putting off tasks that only grow exponentially with time does nothing to ease the act itself. try telling me this next time my inbox has grown to over 200 new emails, all of which i don't want anything to do with simply because i'd rather not converse with any of my professors at this particular moment. why must they be so ... in touch? who does that?
certainly not myself, as any of my friends can attest to since i never never NEVER keep seem to be any good at correspondance.
new years resolution (one month late): call at least one person you don't usually talk to each week. yes, fit that conversation in right between work, beer, sleep, and books. do that.
do this?
yes, that.
just kidding, just kidding. don't worry, inner self. nobody knows that this lil' baby exsists.
there is a poster of the incredible strong and flexible pilobolus dance theatre dancers hanging directly above this here computer and it motivates me to do a little bit of ball huggin yoga. at least it woudl help me not think about what other sort of arobic exersize i'm not getting at the moment because i have to be a stupid fucking girl about all the shit that i feel inside. maybe i haven't been a girl exactly, but what i have been doesn't have a word to describe it, at least not that i've learned in the 15 years of schooling i've been subjected to so far. and the best part is that, unlike my usual antics, these have only hurt myself, methinks. by not accepting such a kind and curtious person into my life, i suppose i have only brought down the value. since when does happiness coincide with having a companion? what part of nature thought that this would be a good thing? why can't our species be like the remarkably self-seficient ones that thrive on seclusion. i think i am going to start a revolution: complete severence of all that feels good and mighty in an effort to reform my ways.
no
and the next time he offers to carry all of my laundry, i will steadfastly refuse. do not carry it. do not. i can do it myself. i don't want your pity or our kindness or your sympathy.
and fuck you, too. because of you, i am in this position in the first place. all those nights, they weren't my idea. you figured me out and knew i was suseptable to influence when risk was involved. you beat me at my own game and taught me how to do the same.
and now, after years of practice of protecting myself against all individuals who might possibly inflict harm, i forgot that the one person who can do the most damage is the one person i never had a defense against in the first place (talk about an expensive buildup).
ahhhh. fuck this shit. fuck it fuck it fuck it.
it's like spinning a water bottle upside down: it looks pretty until it falls. then it's just fuuuucking fruuuuuustrating. the noise is just so invasive. no matter where you are, you can hear the low and high pitched calamity, oh so powerful in its perfect emptiness. and hten, just like that, quiet. no answers, no words, just silence. and the most beautiful part about it is that only silence can really describe itself.
not even my ears can reproduce it as most days i can hear the blood rushing by the eardrums, creating some sort of pressure that makes beautiful stillness completey impossible.
just like that.
putting off tasks that only grow exponentially with time does nothing to ease the act itself. try telling me this next time my inbox has grown to over 200 new emails, all of which i don't want anything to do with simply because i'd rather not converse with any of my professors at this particular moment. why must they be so ... in touch? who does that?
certainly not myself, as any of my friends can attest to since i never never NEVER keep seem to be any good at correspondance.
new years resolution (one month late): call at least one person you don't usually talk to each week. yes, fit that conversation in right between work, beer, sleep, and books. do that.
do this?
yes, that.
just kidding, just kidding. don't worry, inner self. nobody knows that this lil' baby exsists.
there is a poster of the incredible strong and flexible pilobolus dance theatre dancers hanging directly above this here computer and it motivates me to do a little bit of ball huggin yoga. at least it woudl help me not think about what other sort of arobic exersize i'm not getting at the moment because i have to be a stupid fucking girl about all the shit that i feel inside. maybe i haven't been a girl exactly, but what i have been doesn't have a word to describe it, at least not that i've learned in the 15 years of schooling i've been subjected to so far. and the best part is that, unlike my usual antics, these have only hurt myself, methinks. by not accepting such a kind and curtious person into my life, i suppose i have only brought down the value. since when does happiness coincide with having a companion? what part of nature thought that this would be a good thing? why can't our species be like the remarkably self-seficient ones that thrive on seclusion. i think i am going to start a revolution: complete severence of all that feels good and mighty in an effort to reform my ways.
no
and the next time he offers to carry all of my laundry, i will steadfastly refuse. do not carry it. do not. i can do it myself. i don't want your pity or our kindness or your sympathy.
and fuck you, too. because of you, i am in this position in the first place. all those nights, they weren't my idea. you figured me out and knew i was suseptable to influence when risk was involved. you beat me at my own game and taught me how to do the same.
and now, after years of practice of protecting myself against all individuals who might possibly inflict harm, i forgot that the one person who can do the most damage is the one person i never had a defense against in the first place (talk about an expensive buildup).
ahhhh. fuck this shit. fuck it fuck it fuck it.
it's like spinning a water bottle upside down: it looks pretty until it falls. then it's just fuuuucking fruuuuuustrating. the noise is just so invasive. no matter where you are, you can hear the low and high pitched calamity, oh so powerful in its perfect emptiness. and hten, just like that, quiet. no answers, no words, just silence. and the most beautiful part about it is that only silence can really describe itself.
not even my ears can reproduce it as most days i can hear the blood rushing by the eardrums, creating some sort of pressure that makes beautiful stillness completey impossible.
just like that.
posted by The Smart Pineapple at 17:28
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home